TRAVELLING in Madagascar fifty years ago, and indeed for many years after that date, differed considerably from what we have any experience of in Europe. It was not until the year 1901 that a railway was commenced from the east coast to the interior, and it is only a few months ago that direct communication by rail has been completed between Tamatave and Antanànarìvo. But until the French occupation, in 1895, a road, in our sense of the word, did not exist in the island; and all kinds of merchandise brought from the coast to the interior, or taken between other places, were carried for great distances on men’s shoulders. There were but three modes of conveyance—viz. one’s own legs, the làkana or canoe, and the filanjàna or palanquin. We intended to make use of all these means of getting over the ground (and water); but by far the greater part of the journey of two hundred and twenty miles would be performed in the filanjàna, carried on the sinewy shoulders of our bearers or màromìta. This was the conveyance of the country (and it is still used a good deal); for during the first thirty years and more of my residence in Madagascar there was not a single wheeled vehicle of any kind to be seen in the interior, nor did even a wheelbarrow come under my observation during that time.

This want of our European means of conveyance arose from the fact that no wheeled vehicles could have been used owing to the condition of the tracks then leading from one part of the country to another. The lightest carriage or the strongest waggon would have been equally impracticable in parts of the forest where the path was almost lost in the dense undergrowth, and where the trees barely left room for a palanquin to pass. Nor could any team take a vehicle up and down some of the tremendous gorges, by tracks which sometimes wind like a corkscrew amidst rocks and twisted roots of trees, sometimes climb broad surfaces of slippery basalt, where a false step would send bearers and palanquin together into steep ravines far below, and again are lost in sloughs of adhesive clay, in which the bearers at times sink to the waist, and when the traveller has to leap from the back of one man to another to reach firm standing-ground. Shaky bridges of primitive construction, often consisting of but a single tree trunk, were frequently the only means of crossing the streams; while more often they had to be forded, one of the men going cautiously in advance to test the depth of the water. It occasionally happened that this pioneer suddenly disappeared, affording us and his companions a good deal of merriment at his expense. At times I have had to cross rivers when the water came up to the necks of the bearers, the shorter men having to jump up to get breath, while they had to hold the palanquin high up at arm’s-length to keep me out of the water.

It was often asked: Why do not the native government improve the roads? The neglect to do so was intentional on their part, for it was evident to everyone who travelled along the route from Tamatave to the capital that the track might have been very much improved at a comparatively small expense. The Malagasy shrewdly considered that the difficulty of the route to the interior would be a formidable obstacle to an invasion by a European power, and so they deliberately allowed the path to remain as rugged as it is by nature. The first Radàma is reported to have said, when told of the military genius of foreign soldiers, that he had two officers in his service, “General Hàzo,” and “General Tàzo” (that is, “Forest and Fever”), whom he would match against any European commander. Subsequent events so far justified his opinion that the French invasion of the interior in 1895 did not follow the east forest road, but the far easier route from the north-west coast. The old road through the double belt of forests would have presented formidable obstacles to the passage of disciplined troops, and at many points it might have been successfully contested by a small body of good marksmen, well acquainted with the localities.

It may be gathered from what has been already said that travelling in Madagascar in the old times had not a little of adventure and novelty connected with it. Provided the weather was moderately fine, there was enough of freshness and often of amusing incident to render the journey not unenjoyable, especially if travelling in a party; and even to a solitary traveller there is such a variety of scenery, and so many and beautiful forms of vegetation, to arrest the attention, that it was by no means monotonous. Of course there must be a capacity for “roughing it,” and for turning the very discomforts into sources of amusement. We must not be too much disturbed at a superabundance of fleas or mosquitoes in the houses, nor be frightened out of sleep by the scampering of rats around and occasionally even upon us. It sometimes happens, too, that a centipede or a scorpion has to be dislodged from under the mats upon which we are about to lay our mattresses, but, after all, a moderate amount of caution will prevent us taking much harm.

It must be confessed, however, that if the weather prove unfavourable the discomforts are great, and it requires a resolute effort to look at the bright side of things. To travel for several hours in the rain, with the bearers slipping about in the stiff adhesive clay—now sinking to the knees in a slough in the hollows, and then painfully toiling up the rugged ascents—with a chance of being benighted in the middle of the forest, were not enjoyable incidents in the journey. Added to this, occasionally the bearers of baggage and bedding and food would be far behind, and sometimes would not turn up at all, leaving us to go supperless, not to bed, but to do as well as we could on a dirty mat. But, after all said and done, I can look back on many journeys with great pleasure; and my wife and I have even said to each other at the end, “It has been like a prolonged picnic.” And by travelling at the proper time of the year—for we never used, if possible, to take long journeys in the rainy season—and with ordinary care in arranging the different stages, there was often no more discomfort than that inseparable from the unavoidable fatigue.

Soon after breakfast on the morning of the 3rd October the yard of Mr Procter’s house was filled with the bearers waiting to take their packages, and, as more came than were actually required, there was a good deal of noise and confusion until all the loads had been apportioned. Most of my màromìta were strong and active young men, spare and lithe of limb, and proved to possess great powers of endurance. The loads they carried were not very heavy, but it was astonishing to see with what steady patience they bore them hour after hour under a burning sun, and up and down paths in the forest, where their progress was often but a scrambling from one foothold to another. Two men would take a load of between eighty and ninety pounds, slung on a bamboo, between them; and this was the most economical way of taking goods, for, on account of the difficulty of the paths, four men found it more fatiguing to carry in one package a weight which, divided into two, could easily be borne by two sets of bearers.

Eight of the strongest and most active young men, accustomed to work together, were selected to carry my palanquin, and took it in two sets of four each, carrying alternately. Most of the articles of my baggage were carried by two men; but my two large flat wooden cases, containing drawing boards, paper and instruments, required four men each. All baggage was carried by the same men throughout the journey, without any relay or change, except shifting the pole from one shoulder to the other; but my palanquin, as already said, had a double set. The personal bearers, therefore, naturally travel quicker than those carrying the baggage, and we generally arrived at the halting-places an hour or more before the others came up. The hollow of the bamboos to which boxes and cases were slung served for carrying salt, spoons, and various little properties of the bearers, and sometimes small articles of European make for selling at the capital. The men were, and still are, very expert in packing and securing goods committed to their charge. Prints, calicoes and similar materials were often covered with pandanus leaves and so made impervious to the wet; and even sugar and salt were carried in the same way without damage.

As the conveyance of myself and my baggage required more than thirty men, and Mr Plant took a dozen in addition, it was some time before everything was arranged, and there was a good deal of contention as to getting the lightest and most convenient packages to carry. We had hoped to start early in the forenoon, but it was after one o’clock when we sent off the last cases and I stepped into my filanjàna to commence the novel experience of a journey in Madagascar. We formed quite a large party as we set off from Tamatave and turned southwards into the open country. The rear was brought up by a bearer of some intelligence and experience, who only carried a spear, and was to act as captain over the rest and look out accommodation for us in the villages, etc. He had also to see after the whole of the luggage, and take care that everyone had his proper load and came up to time.

My filanjàna was a different kind of thing from the chair in which I had gone to visit the Governor. It was of the same description as that commonly used by Malagasy ladies—made of an oblong framework of light wood, filled in with a plaited material formed of strips of sheepskin, and carried on poles, which were the midrib of the enormous leaves of the rofìa-palm. In this I sat, legs stretched out at full length, a piece of board fixed as a rest for the back, and the whole made fairly comfortable by means of cushions and rugs. There was plenty of space for extra wraps, waterproof coat, telescope, books, etc. When ladies travel any distance in this kind of filanjàna a hood of rofìa cloth is fixed so as to draw over the head and to protect them from the sun and rain. In my case, a stout umbrella served instead, and a piece of waterproof cloth protected me fairly well from the little rain that fell on the journey. (I may add here that this was the first, and the last, journey I ever took in this kind of filanjàna.) The late Dr Mullens, who also travelled up in a similar way in 1873, said it reminded him of a picture in Punch, of a heavy swell driving himself in a very small basket carriage, and being remarked on by a street arab to his companion thus: “Hallo, Bill, here’s a cove a-driving hisself home from the wash.” My companion’s filanjàna was a much simpler contrivance than mine, and consisted merely of two light poles held together by iron bars, and with a piece of untanned hide nailed to them for a seat. It was much more conveniently carried in the forest than my larger and more cumbrous conveyance. It may be added that certainly one was sometimes danced about “like a pea in a frying-pan” in this rude machine; and it was not long before a much more comfortable style of filanjàna was adopted, with leather-covered back and arms, padded as well as the seat, and with foot-rest, and leather or cloth bags strapped to the side for carrying books and other small articles.

It was a fine warm day when we set off, the temperature not being higher than that of ordinary summer weather in England. Our course lay due south, at no great distance from the sea, the roar of whose waves we could hear distinctly all through the first stage of the journey. In proceeding from Tamatave to Antanànarìvo the road did not (and still does not, by railway) lead immediately into the interior, but follows the coast for about fifty miles southward. Upon reaching Andòvorànto, we had to leave the sea and strike westward into the heart of the island, ascending the river Ihàroka for nearly twenty miles before climbing the line of mountains which form the edge of the interior highland, and crossing the great forest.

We soon left Tamatave behind us and got out into the open country, a portion of the plain which extends for about thirty miles between the foothills and the sea. Our men took us this first day’s journey of nine or ten miles at a quick walk or trot for the whole way, without any apparent fatigue. The road—which was a mere footpath, or rather several footpaths, over a grassy undulating plain—was bounded on one side by trees, and on the other by low bushes and shrubs. Besides the cocoanut-palms and the broad-leaved bananas, which were not here very numerous, the most striking trees to a foreigner were the agave, with long spear-shaped prickly leaves, on a high trunk, and another very similar in form, but without any stem, both of which might be counted by thousands. Nearer the sea was an almost unbroken line of pandanus, which is one of the most characteristic features of the coast vegetation. I also noticed numbers of orchids on the trees, of two or three species of Angræcum, but just past the flowering; a smaller orchid, also with pure white flowers, was very abundant.

I had enough to engage my attention with these new forms of vegetation, as well as in noticing the birds, and the many butterflies and other insects which crossed our path every moment, until we arrived at Hivòndrona, a large straggling village on a broad river of the same name, which here unites with other streams and flows into the sea. Among the many birds to be seen were flocks of small green and white paroquets, green pigeons, scarlet cardinal-birds, and occasionally beautiful little sun-birds (Nectarinidæ) with metallic colours of green, brown and yellow. We had intended to go farther, but finding that, owing to our late starting, we should not reach another village before dark, we decided to stay of Hivòndrona for the night. A house at most of the villages on the road to the capital was provided for travellers, who took possession at once, without paying anything for its use. The house here, which was somewhat better than at most of the other places, consisted, like all the dwellings in this part of the country, of a framework of poles, thatched with the leaves of the traveller’s tree, and the walls filled in with a kind of lathing made of the stalks of the same leaves. The walls and floor were both covered with matting, made from the fibre of leaves of the rofìa palm. In one corner was the fireplace, merely a yard and a half square of sand and earth, with half-a-dozen large stones for supporting the cooking utensils. As in most native houses, the smoke made its way out through the thatch.

Our men soon came up with the baggage and proceeded to get out kitchen apparatus, make a fire, and put on pots and pans; and in a short time beef, fowls and soup were being prepared. Meanwhile Mr Plant and I walked down to the seashore and then into the village, to call upon a creole trader, who was the only European resident in the place. We brought him back with us, and found dinner all ready on our return to the house. My largest case of drawing boards formed, when turned upside down and laid on other boxes, an excellent table; we sat round on other packages, and found that one of our bearers, who officiated as cook, was capable of preparing a very fair meal; and although the surroundings were decidedly primitive, we enjoyed it all the more from its novelty. After our visitor had left us we prepared to sleep; three or four boxes, with a rug and my clothes-bag, formed a comfortable bed for myself, while Mr Plant lay on the floor, but found certain minute occupants of the house so very active that his sleep was considerably disturbed.

Next morning we were up long before daybreak, and after a cup of coffee started a little before six o’clock. We walked down to the river, which had to be crossed and descended for some distance, and embarked with our baggage in seven canoes. These canoes, like those at Tamatave, are somewhat rude contrivances, and are hollowed out of a single tree. They are of various lengths, from ten to thirty or forty feet, the largest being about four feet in breadth and depth. There is no keel, so that they are rather apt to capsize unless carefully handled and loaded. At each end is a kind of projecting beak, pierced with a hole for attaching a mooring-rope. From the smoothness of the sides, and the great length compared with the beam, they can be propelled at considerable speed with far less exertion than is required to move a boat of European build. Instead of oars, paddles shaped like a wooden shovel are employed, and these are dug into the water, the rower squatting in the canoe and facing the bows; the paddle is held vertically, a reverse motion being given to the handle. We went a couple of miles down the stream, which here unites with others, so that several islands are formed, all the banks being covered with luxuriant vegetation. Conspicuous amongst this, and growing in the shallow water close to the banks, were great numbers of a gigantic arum endemic in Madagascar (Typhonodorum lindleyanum), and growing to the height sometimes of twelve or fifteen feet, and possessing a large white spathe of more than a foot in length, enclosing a golden-yellow pistil, or what looks like one. The leaves are most handsome and are about a yard long. After about twenty minutes’ paddling we landed, and, when all our little fleet had arrived, mounted our palanquins, and set off through a narrow path in the woods. The morning air, even on this tropical coast, was quite keen, making an overcoat necessary before the sun got up.

Our road for some miles lay along cleared forest, with stumps of trees and charred trunks, white and black, in every direction. It is believed that the white ants are responsible for this destruction of the trees. We saw numbers of a large crow (Corvus scapulatus), not entirely black, like our English species, but with a broad white ring round the neck and a pure white breast, giving them quite a clerical air. This bird, called goàika by the Malagasy—evidently an imitation of his harsh croak—is larger than a magpie, and his dark plumage is glossy bluish-black. He is very common everywhere in the island, being often seen in large numbers, especially near the markets, where he picks up a living from the refuse and the scattered rice. He is a bold and rather impudent bird, and will often attack the smaller hawks. There were also numbers of the white egret (Ardea bubulcus) or vòrom-pòtsy (i.e. “white bird”), also called vòron-tìan-òmby (i.e. “bird liked by cattle”), from their following the herds to feed upon the ticks which torment them. One may often see these egrets perched on the back of the oxen and thus clearing them from their enemies. Wherever the animals were feeding, these birds might be seen in numbers proportionate to those of the cattle. This egret has the purest white plumage, with a pale yellow plume or crest, and is a most elegant and graceful bird.

The oxen of Madagascar have very long horns, and a large hump between the shoulders. In other respects their appearance does not differ from the European kinds, and the quality and flavour of the flesh is not much inferior to English beef. The hump, which consists of a marrow-like fat, is considered a great delicacy by the Malagasy, and when salted and eaten cold is a very acceptable dish. When the animal is in poor condition the hump is much diminished in size, being, like that of the camel in similar circumstances, apparently absorbed into the system. It then droops partly over the shoulders. These Malagasy oxen have doubtless been brought at a rather remote period from Africa; their native name, òmby, is practically the same as the Swahili ngombe.

We reached Trànomàro (“many houses”) at half-past nine, and there breakfasted. My bearers proved to be a set of most merry, good-tempered, willing fellows. As soon as they got near the halting-places they would set off at a quick run, and with shouts and cries carry me into the village in grand style, making quite a commotion in the place. Leaving again at noon, in a few minutes we came down to the sea, the path being close to the waves which were rolling in from the broad expanse of the Indian Ocean. I was amused by the hundreds of little red crabs, about three inches long, taking their morning bath or watching at the mouth of their holes, down which they dived instantaneously at our approach. One or more species of the Madagascar crabs has one of its pincers enormously enlarged, so that it is about the same size as the carapace, while the other claw is quite rudimentary. This great arm the little creature carries held up in a ludicrous, threatening manner, as if defying all enemies. I was disappointed in not seeing shells of any size or beauty on the sands. The only ones I then observed which differed from those found on our own shores were a small bivalve of a bluish-purple hue, and an almost transparent whorled shell, resembling the volute of an Ionic capital, but so fragile that it was difficult to find a perfect specimen.

But although that portion of the shore did not yield much of conchological interest, there are many parts of the coasts of Madagascar which produce some of the most beautifully marked species of the genus Conus (Conus tessellatus and C. nobilis, if I am not mistaken, are Madagascar species), while large handsome species of the Triton (T. variegatum) are also found. These latter are often employed instead of church bells to call the congregations together, as well as to summon the people to hear Government orders. A hole is pierced on the side of the shell, and it requires some dexterity to blow it; but the sound is deep and sonorous and can be heard at a considerable distance. The circular tops of the cone shells are ground down to a thin plate and extensively used by the Sàkalàva and other tribes as a face ornament, being fixed by a cord on the forehead or the temples. They are called félana. I have also picked up specimens, farther south, of Cypræa (C. madagascariensis), a well-known handsome shell, as well as of Oliva, Mitra, Cassis, and others (C. madagascariensis). The finest examples are, however, I believe, only to be got by dredging near the shore.

After some time we left the shore and proceeded through the woods, skirting one of those lagoons which run parallel with the coast nearly all the way from Tamatave to Andòvorànto. A good recent map of Madagascar will show that on this coast, for about three hundred miles south of Hivòndrona, there is a nearly continuous line of lakes and lagoons. They vary in distance from the sea from a hundred yards to a couple of miles; and in many places they look like a very straight river or a broad canal, while frequently they extend inland, spreading out into extensive sheets of water, two or three miles across. This peculiar formation is probably owing, in part at least, to slight changes of level in the land, so that the inner banks of the lagoons were possibly an old shore-line. But this chain of lagoons and lakes is no doubt chiefly due to east coast rivers being continually blocked up at their outlets by bars of sand, driven up by the prevailing south-east trade-wind and the southerly currents. So that the river waters are forced back into the lagoons until the pressure is so great that a breach is made, and the fresh water rushes through into the sea. On account of these sand-bars, hardly any east coast river can be entered by ships. The rivers, in fact, flow for the most of the time, not into the sea, but into the lagoons. These are not perfectly continuous, although out of that three hundred miles there are only about thirty miles where there are breaks in their continuity and where canoes have to be hauled for a few hundred yards, or for a mile or two, on the dry land separating them.

It will at once occur to anyone travelling along this coast, as we did, that an uninterrupted waterway might be formed by cutting a few short canals to connect the separate lagoons, and so bring the coast towns into communication with Tamatave. That enlightened monarch, Radàma I. (1810-1828), did see this, and several thousand men were at one time employed in connecting the lagoons nearest Tamatave; but this work was interrupted by his death and never resumed by his successors. But soon after the French conquest the work was again taken in hand; canals were excavated, connecting all the lakes and lagoons between Tamatave and Andòvorànto; and for about twelve years a service of small steamers took passengers and goods between Hivòndrona and Brickaville, where, until quite recently, the railway commenced. Since the line of rails has now been completed direct to Tamatave, this waterway will not be of the same use, at least for passenger traffic.

The scenery of this coast is of a very varied and beautiful nature, and the combinations of wood and water present a series of pictures which constantly recalled some of the loveliest landscapes that English river and lake scenery can present. Our route ran for most of the way between the lagoons and the sea, among the woods. On the one hand we had frequent glimpses through the trees of sheets of smooth water fringed by tropical vegetation, and on the other hand were the tumbling and foaming waves of the ever-restless sea. In many places islands studded the surface of the lakes, and I noticed thousands of a species of pandanus, with large aerial roots, spreading out as if to anchor it firmly against floods and violent currents. In the woods were the gum-copal tree and many kinds of palms with slender graceful stems and crowns of feathery leaves. The climbing plants were abundant, forming ropes of various thicknesses, crossing from tree to tree and binding all together in inextricable confusion, creeping on the ground, mounting to the tree-tops and sometimes hanging in coils like huge serpents. Great masses of hart’s-tongue fern occurred in the forks of the branches, and wherever a tree trunk crossed over our path it was covered with orchids.

Among other trees I recognised the celebrated tangèna, from which was obtained the poison used in Madagascar from a remote period as an ordeal. The tangèna is about the size of an ordinary apple-tree, and, could it be naturalised in England, would make a beautiful addition to our ornamental plantations. The leaves are peculiarly grouped together in clusters and are somewhat like those of the horse-chestnut. The poison was procured from the kernel of the fruit, and until the reign of Radàma II. (1861) was used with fatal effect for the trial of accused persons, and caused the death of thousands of people, mostly innocent, every year during the reign of the cruel Rànavàlona I.

We arrived at Andrànokòditra, a small village with a dozen houses, early in the afternoon. From our house there was a lovely view of the broad lake with its woods and islands, while the sea was only two or three hundred yards’ distance in the rear. Wild ducks and geese of several kinds were here very plentiful, but my friend was not very successful with his gun, as a canoe was necessary to reach the islands where they chiefly make their haunts. After our evening meal Mr Plant slung his hammock to the framework of our hut, and happily did not come to grief, as occasionally happened. I was somewhat disturbed by the cockroaches, which persisted in dropping from the roof upon and around me. There was no remedy, however, except to forget the annoyance in sleep.

I may here notice that when travelling along this coast a few years later (in August 1883) the sands were everywhere almost covered with pieces of pumice, varying from lumps as big as one’s head to pieces as small as a walnut. They were rounded by the action of the waves, and on some of the larger pieces oysters, serpulæ and corals had begun to form. This pumice had no doubt been brought by the ocean currents, as well as by the winds, both setting to the west, from the Straits of Sunda, where they were ejected by the tremendous eruption of Krakatoa, off the west coast of Java, during the previous May. This fact supplies not only an interesting illustration of the distances to which volcanic products may be carried by ocean currents, but also throws light upon the way in which the ancestors of the Malagasy came across the three thousand miles of sea which separate Madagascar from Malaysia. It is easy to understand how, in prehistoric times, single prahus, or even a small fleet of them, were occasionally driven westward by a hurricane, and that the westerly current aided in this, until at length these vessels were stranded or gained shelter on the coast of Madagascar, stretching north and south, as it does, for a thousand miles. From what I have been told, the pumice was found, if not everywhere on the east coast, at any rate over a considerable extent of it.

We were up soon after four o’clock on the following morning, and started while it was still twilight. After going a short distance through the woods we came again to the seashore, and proceeded for some miles close to the waves, which broke repeatedly over our bearers’ feet as they tramped on the firm wet sand. For a considerable distance there was only a low bank of sand between the salt water of the ocean and the fresh water of the lake. In many places the opposite shore showed good sections of the strata, apparently a red sandstone, with a good deal of quartz rock. We left the sea again and went on through the woods, a sharp shower coming on as we entered them. We did not notice any fish in the lagoons, but I was afterwards informed by a correspondent, Mr J. G. Connorton, who lived for several years at Mànanjàra, and paid much attention to natural history, that there is a great variety of fish, crustaceans and mulluscs in the lagoons and rivers, as well as in the sea. He kindly sent me a list of about one hundred and twenty of these, together with many interesting particulars as to their habits and appearance, etc. From this account I will give a few extracts:

“Ambàtovàzana, a sea-fish which comes also into the entrance of the rivers; it has silvery scales and yellow fins. In both upper and lower jaws are four rows of teeth very like pebbles; these are for crushing crabs, its usual food. Its name is derived from its peculiarly shaped teeth (vàto, stone; vàzana, molar teeth). Botàla, a small sea and river fish; it is covered all over with rough prickles. These fish inflate their bodies by filling their stomachs with air as soon as they are taken out of the water; if replaced in the water suddenly, out goes the air, and they are off like a flash. It is probably Tetrodon fàhaka. Hìntana, a river-fish, with purple colouring and darker purple stripes from back to belly. It is generally found among weeds, and has four long spines, one on the dorsal fin, two just behind the gills, and one close under the tail. These spines are very poisonous, and anyone pricked by them suffers great pain for several hours, the parts near the wound swelling enormously. I have not, however, heard of the wound ever proving fatal. Horìta, a small species of octopus found clinging to the rocks. The Malagasy esteem them highly, but I found them gluey and sticky in the mouth, as well as rank in flavour. Tòfoka, a sea and river fish, probably Mugil borbonicus. It has a habit of jumping out of the water, and if chased by a shark it swims at the surface with great rapidity, making enormous leaps into the air every now and then and often doubling upon the enemy. Perhaps the best of the many edible fish is the Zòmpona, a kind of mullet, only feeding on soft substances such as weeds. It is silvery in colour, with large scales, and is probably the best-known fish on the east coast. When fresh from the sea, its tail and fins have a yellowish tinge, and it is then splendid eating; but if this tinging is lost it shows that the fish has been for some time in fresh water, and the flesh has a muddy flavour. It varies in size from nine to thirty inches long. The coast people are very fond of zòmpona; and when a person is dying and is so far gone that the case is a hopeless one, some outsider is almost sure to say, ‘He (or she) won’t get zòmpona again.’”

I can confirm my correspondent’s statements as to the excellence of the last-named fish, having frequently eaten it when on the coast. He also mentions several kinds of prawns and shrimps; some of these are large and make an excellent curry. One species of prawn, called Oronkosìa, is long and slender, with immense antennæ, often a foot in length. One species of shrimp has one large claw, like the crab already mentioned, the other being hardly at all developed. Several species of shark are seen off this coast, among them that extraordinary-looking fish, the hammer-headed shark (Zygæna malleus), which I have never seen in Madagascar waters, but have noticed with great interest in South African harbours. “The saw-fish (Pristis sp.), called by the natives Vavàno, sometimes comes into the rivers in search of food. One was caught in the river Mànanjàra which measured fourteen feet from tip of saw to end of tail; the saw alone was three feet six inches in length, seven inches broad at base, and four inches at tip. The flesh is coarse eating, but the liver is very palatable.”

I may remark here that we seldom stopped, either at midday or in the evening, at any village without a visit from the headman of the place and his family, who always carried some present. Fowls, rice, potatoes, eggs and honey were constantly brought to us, preceded by a speech in which the names and honours of the Queen were recited, and compliments to us on our visiting their village. The Malagasy are a most hospitable people, always courteous and polite to strangers; and my first experience of them on this journey was confirmed in numberless instances in travelling in other parts of the country.

Leaving Vavòny, where we had our morning repast, between eleven and twelve o’clock, we went on again through the woods along the shores of the lake, which here spreads out into broad sheets of water, two or three miles wide. The scenery was delightful, both shores being thickly wooded, reminding me in some places of the Wye, in others of the lake at Longleat, and in narrow parts of Studley Park. Our road for miles resembled a footpath through a nobleman’s park in England: clumps of trees, shrubberies, and short smooth turf, all united to complete the resemblance. These all seemed more like the work of some expert landscape gardener than merely the natural growth. In some parts, where the more distinctly tropical vegetation—pandanus, cacti and palms—were not seen, the illusion was complete. In many places we saw many sago palms (Cycas thouarsii), a tree much less in height than the majority of the palms and not exceeding twelve or fourteen feet, but with the same long pinnate leaves characteristic of so many of the Palmaceæ.

One of the most conspicuous trees on this coast, especially as seen from the sea, is the Filào (Casuarina equisetifolia), a tall larch or fir-like tree, often called, from the colour of its wood, “the beefwood tree.” Like the firs, its leaves are fine filaments, and the wind passing through these produces a peculiar gentle sighing noise. Very plentiful, too, is a much smaller tree bearing a perfectly globular-shaped fruit as large as a good-sized orange, but having a hard shell which requires a smart blow to crack. It contains a greyish pulp, and a number of large black seeds; and although by no means equal to an orange in taste, its acid flavour was refreshing enough where one was thirsty and heated with the midday sun. A friend of mine remarks: “As they are rather more difficult to eat in a cleanly and dainty fashion than ripe mangoes, we smeared ourselves pretty considerably in the process.” While the pulp is edible, the seeds are poisonous, and we need not wonder at that when we find that the tree is closely allied to the Strychnos nux-vomica. Its native name is Vòavòntaka (Brehmia spinosa); vòa is the general word for “fruit,” and enters into the composition of more than two hundred Malagasy names of trees, plants and fruits. A species of Hibiscus is widely spread along the coast, and yields a valuable fibre. The natives say that its flowers are yellow in the morning and red in the evening. Other noticeable flowering shrubs here are a species of Stephanotis, with lovely large white flowers, and an Ipomæa, which straggles far and wide on the sand of the seashore. Along the sides of the lagoons and marshes in scattered places may be found the curious pitcher-plant (Nepenthes madagascariensis); this is a shrub about four feet high, whose jug-shaped pitchers, four to five inches in length, contain abundant water and numerous insects. Gum-copal is obtained from a tree (Trachylobium verrucosa) growing on this coast; and india-rubber from several plants (Landolphia madagascariensis and L. gummifera), creepers as well as trees.

Notwithstanding the beauty of this part of the country, it is very unhealthy for foreigners. The rivers, as we have seen, all communicate with the lagoons, and during the rainy season great quantities of decaying matter are brought down from the forests. The large extent of marsh and stagnant water in the lakes breed millions of mosquitoes, and so give rise to the dreaded malarial fever. The earlier accounts of the French and Portuguese settlements on the coast of Madagascar represent this as a frightful scourge, sweeping off a large proportion of the soldiers and settlers at their forts. From this, the Isle Ste Marie was called the “Grave of the French,” and “the Churchyard” and “Dead Island” of the Dutch. But the use of quinine and modern precautions against mosquito bites have done much to mitigate the attacks of fever, and since the draining of the marshes near Tamatave the town is said to be fairly healthy.

The Bétsimisàraka inhabitants of this coast are accustomed to place their dead in rude coffins hollowed out of the trunk of a tree and covered with a roof-shaped lid. But these are not buried, but are placed on the ground in little groups, in a sheltered grove of trees. In the case of wealthy people, the coffins are put on a kind of trestle, and sometimes are protected from the rain by having a shed fixed over them. This custom, it may be imagined, is not, for the living, a pleasant mode of disposing of the departed, and the presence of these little cemeteries may often be deduced from the effluvium, even if they are not seen. During the dry season one constantly meets with groups of people carrying up the remains of their relatives, Hova who have died on the coast, in order that they may be buried in their ancestral tombs. Sometimes we have had our midday meal, or have stopped for the night, in houses against whose outer walls these wrapped-up corpses, fastened to long poles for carriage, have been leaning. At one place where we stayed the people were making cakes for the funeral feast, and in pounding the rice for these the women made a special rhythmical beat of their pestles on the top of the rice mortar, as well as on the meal in the hollow of the mortar.

But to return to our journey. At about two o’clock we had to cross the lake, but as there was only one small canoe, it took more than two hours to get all our baggage and men over. We therefore strolled into the woods, finding plenty to interest us in examining the orchids, ferns, and other plants, most of them new to me. We captured a new and splendid spider, new to my companion, who had made entomology his special study. We were amused by the little land-crabs, with their curious stalked eyes, folding down into a case, when not raised to look about them. There were also many beautifully marked lizards, as well as other interesting living creatures in these tropical woods. The ferry was close to a village bearing the name of Andàvaka-mènaràna—that is, “hole of serpents.” Notwithstanding this ominous appellation, we were not startled from our path by even a solitary reptile, although a cave not far distant is said to be a lurking-place for numbers of these creatures. But on a subsequent journey along this coast I saw a large and handsome brown serpent on the grass close to the path. I got down, not to kill it, but to examine its beautiful markings and graceful movements; but on getting near it, which was not easy to do, as its movements were so rapid, it turned and faced me in a menacing fashion. Happily, although there are many species of serpents in Madagascar, not one is a venomous kind—that is, their bite is not fatal. At the same time there are some kinds which will bite severely if attacked. Later on, I saw another much smaller snake, of a bright green colour, on the trunk of a tree; doubtless its tints were protective. The larger one I saw is called Màndotra, and was from three to four feet long; another species found on the coast is called Màntangòra, and is a foot or more longer.

While on the subject of serpents, I will add here some particulars my friend, Mr Houlder, gives of yet another of these reptiles seen on this east coast, but farther north. This kind is called Akòma (Pelophilus madagascariensis), and appears to be a species of boa, killing fowls, rats and other creatures first by crushing them, and then covering them with saliva before swallowing. At a village he stayed in, my friend found the people much excited about a large serpent seen in their neighbourhood. Sending out his men to find it, “at last the creature was seen. Yes, there he was, a villainous-looking monster, apparently asleep, coiled up among the bushes with his great flat head in the middle of the circle. The gun was loaded with several pistol bullets. Luckily it was, perhaps, for the duck-shot sent into him at the next discharge only just penetrated his thick scaly skin. Advancing to within a couple of yards or so, I raised the gun. Bang! Away went the onlookers for their lives. Peering through the smoke which was slowly moving away, I could just see the head coming towards me. Enough, I bolted too. This caused a second stampede. But it was a groundless alarm. I looked back, and saw that the poor creature was incapable of doing serious injury. His back was hopelessly broken. No other shot was necessary.” Mr Houlder did not get the serpent to his house without difficulty, owing to the terror of the bearers even when it was dead. “It was a medium-sized specimen, about nine feet long and as thick round the middle as the calf of a man’s leg. On each side of its body was a long yellow, black, and reddish chain-like marking on a brown ground; and near the extremity of its tail were two abortive claws. Muscular motion did not cease until long after it was dead.”

Although we did not see any lemurs in the coast woods, one species at least is, or, at least, was, sometimes met with—viz. the white-fronted lemur (Lemur mongos, var. albifrons). Several specimens of this kind have been brought to England from time to time, and have been kept in the Regent’s Park Zoological Gardens from as long ago as 1830; so that their appearance and habits are as well known to English people as to the Malagasy themselves. Their habits are simple enough. They often exhibit great vivacity, and are much given to leaping from one object to another, in which they are aided by the pad-like structure of the soles of their four hands. They are very good-natured and tame and full of fun while still young, but become cross and vicious when old. We shall, however, see and hear more of the lemurs when we come into the denser forests.

A little before dusk we arrived at Andòvorànto, a large village situated at the mouth of the river Ihàroka, and formerly the capital of the Bétsimisàraka tribe, before they were reduced to subjection by the Hova. This place would be the natural port of the capital, but for the bar of sand at the entrance of the river. Were it not for this obstruction, ships and steamers could come up into the interior for many miles. The house in which we stayed here was quite a large one, divided into three rooms, the walls covered with rofìa matting, and actually possessing windows (but, of course, without glass) and doors. All the places where we had stayed previously had no windows, and a mat hung over the entrance supplied the place of a door.

While our dinner was being prepared we walked down to the sea and along the river banks, hoping to find some natural history specimens. During our walk Mr Plant related to me his success in obtaining a specimen of that remarkable creature, the aye-aye, an animal peculiar to Madagascar, and of which, at that time, only one or two specimens had reached Europe. The example he secured was sent to England in spirits, and from it, I believe, Sir Richard Owen prepared his monograph, giving full details and drawings, life size, showing its remarkable structure. The animal, although apparently not scarce, is difficult to obtain, as it comes out from its retreat only at night; besides which, the forest people have a superstitious fear of it, so that even a large reward is often insufficient to induce them to attempt its capture.